


New Pet

by cuntoid



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alien Cock, Breeding Kink, F/M, Forced Orgasms, Hunting, Kidnapping, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Other, Pet Play, Sort Of, Stalking, alien fuck, claimfuck, dubcon, noncon, pennywise takes you home, there is some good shit in here trust me cluckers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 01:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14273946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: Pennywise snatches you up and plans to keep you all to himself.





	New Pet

**Author's Note:**

> Another wonderful commission request that I was super into. Thank you so much! How in the fuck can you go wrong with big, scary clowns and weird alien sex? How?

Walking in the pale moonlight; it’s almost a cliché, one you try to admire as often as you can muster the energy. Frankly speaking, it’s less about the energy spent strolling along the deserted streets of downtown and more about gathering the courage to brave the night, regardless of what face the moon has decided to wear. It’s less about the light and more about the shadows.

Tonight, there are plenty of both, the silent, watchful moon split in half, kind enough to grace you with at least a little illumination. The air is cool at this hour, looping through the branches of the trees in a faint sigh that brings a blanket of gooseflesh over your arms. Night-sounds make you feel alive. They make you feel like a guest in your own city, so much more welcoming when gutted empty under the cover of night. Only a handful of cars roll lazily by, careful not to piss off the cops stuck at twilight speed traps, the ones nursing strong coffees and hoping for a quick shift or a wayward drunk driver to spice things up.

There isn’t too much to fear in this area at any time of the day. Junkies and drifters stay down by the river, wrapped in sleeping bags and tarpaulin blankets, until either the sun or their hangovers wake them in the morning. Buildings loom in the dim lighting, crumbling brick relics and houses fashioned into law offices. The occasional stray animal clicks by on the opposite sidewalk with quick, skittering feet, as wary of strangers as you are. Leaves shiver in the light wind and it carries sounds of traffic from beyond downtown. There might be voices in there, but in the witching hour, there could be voices  _anywhere_.

One whisper stands above the rest – not quite a whisper, not really. A soft popping, sort of like soap bubbles. It evolves and the sound swells with it, barely out of reach, still only a strange babbling that becomes more voice-like the louder it gets, and finally it hits you. It’s a laugh, a grating cackle trickling in from every direction. It forces every fine hair on the back of your neck to stiffen, as if tasting the air for the source of this horrifying imitation of human laughter.

“Hello?” Your voice is meek as it bounces off the street and shop windows, coming back to you as the only answer. There aren’t a lot of places to hide if things get hairy; in a slim alleyway, perhaps, but  _then_ what? Then you’re trapped against a chain-link fence, a dead end. Worse, you’re left to your own blind devices as you’re plunged into the pitch blackness of unlit fields and abandoned yards, stretching past to the treelines, where coyotes yip and chatter at the stars.

“ _Psssst_.”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of that hiss, unmistakably made by another person. There’s no one when you look around, the night as empty as ever, the usual static sounds drowned out by the heavy silence, foreboding, turning your frozen limbs hot as adrenaline pumps through your veins.

“ _Here_. Here, child,  _here!_ ”

Its voice tickles past your ear and your throat closes in on itself, choked with terror as fingers lace into a fist and yank your hair back until your scalp burns. The face looming above yours is of a garish specter, red lips split open like a gash dripping with milky, viscous drool, gleaming over his sharpened cannibal-teeth and glossing over his chin.

“Closer,” he giggles, leaning down until his hot breath washes over your face. “What do we have,  _here?_ My, my,  _my_ …”

“Please let me go.” It takes every bit of your will to stop squirming and stand perfectly still, swallowing back your whimper when he presses against your back, molding his massive body around yours to trap you close. He sniffs at your hair, eyes rolling back in his skull. “I promise I won’t scream, I’ll give you whatever you want! Please!”

“ _Oh, no, that won’t do_. That won’t do at  _all_ , sweet little thing. I want to savor the crunch of your tiny bones in the comfort of my home,” he purrs. His tongue is hot against the curve of your ear, tracing the lip of cartilage at the top down to the soft edge of your lobe, skating a razor-sharp tooth against it. “You’re coming with me, sweet one, sugar-candy girl.  _Come_   _with_   _Pennywise_.”

In the middle of the street, in the cloak of small-town nightfall, in the plain view of every closed and darkened window on the block, the man takes you. Your whimpers and stifled cries turn into very real ones, sobbing and shouting while this beast of a man giggles and runs his big hands over your thighs, lifting you forcefully up to straddle his waist. Claws snake underneath your shirt and he grips the soft flesh over your ribs, digging as thought he means to shove underneath the curved cage of bone to cup your heart.

“Nobody comes a-callin’ for  _you_  tonight. They know better.  _But not you!_ Wandering under the moon, stinking of fear. Blood in the water.”

His voice wavers into something else, a sound too deep and cavernous to be considered human. A choral growl rises up from his throat like it’s a gate to hell, like glancing down his gullet might transport you to the smoldering bowels of the underworld, and in your mind’s eye you can see two burning doorways like fire, alive, a pair of furious eyes freezing you to the spot. The moon, absolutely indifferent, slides behind a cloud.

He runs through the shadows as though creatures even more horrifying than he is are nipping at his heels, chasing the night until you reach the mouth of a sewer pipe. The second he ducks inside the lip of the tunnel, the air turns frigid. His hands rest under your ass so that his fingers stroke in, curving to feel the seam of your jeans, to tease along the growing heat there. There isn’t enough light to see the outline of your own hand in front of your face; all that exists is the sensation of his crawling fingers and cloyingly sweet breath, the feeling of his silky suit clutched in your fists.

“Almost home, pet. You’re going to show me just how  _good_  you can be, aren’t you? Just how tasty, how  _tender_  and  _soft_.”

His whispery, disjointed words, shaped by the unending smile on his lips, reverberate off the damp walls to mingle with the dripping sounds, the watery, secret sounds of the sewer. He reaches an opening into a huge, empty room, as cavernous as it is sinister. The air is steeped in it. Your heart hammers against your sternum and for a moment, you swear the man – the  _thing_ , whatever he is – pauses his heavy breathing to listen to each desperate thump.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

“Hope,” he intones, the word sounding unfamiliar and unwelcome in his mouth. “Barely a flavor. Stale. I smell none of it on you – only fear. Fear, and something else… something ripe and  _warm_.”

He rocks his hips up to grind between your thighs, bouncing your weight with shallow lifts and drops so that you’re sliding against the stiffening length underneath his suit, growing against you. He leans back until your hands are clasped behind his neck, tickled by wild tufts of orange hair as he smirks and drools, and his cock throbs when you lose control of the hitching in your chest. Sobs come up in sniffling little whines, breathless hiccups making your throat hurt.

Against all reason, against every fear-soaked instinct screaming in the prehensile recesses of your brain, of your very biology, you rut back against him and shudder at the sharp thrill zipping up through your guts like lightning. He jostles you into the crook of one arm and grabs your throat with the other, squeezing until you can’t even squeak in protest. For the second time your body betrays you with the irresistible urge to ride against the thick ridge beneath all that satin, throbbing and hot even through layers of cloth.

“That’s it,  _that’s it_ – give in to Pennywise. You  _belong_  to me. I’ll keep you here, my eager, wet,  _tight_  little fucktoy, my obedient pet, and fill your cunt as I please. You will learn to like it,  _oh, yes you will,_  shiny new toy.”

He takes several long strides forward, retaining absolute control over your lungs until they’re burning for air and fuzzy spots bubble into the edges of your vision. He throws you down and suddenly you’re gagging and coughing, tears tracking your cheeks in your effort to fill your lungs and slow the choked gasps for air, sprawled on a pile of old mattresses. Deep red stains bloom along the lumps and stitched valleys of the cloth. He paces at your feet like a wild animal, lips and chin dripping with saliva. It’s only now that you get a good look at him, and the more you look, the more you feel sanity slipping hopelessly away. He is massive. He looms overhead like your reckoning, delighted to bring you to your knees.

Finally, he hunches low, lower, down until he’s on hands and knees, and he crawls over you with the undulating shoulders of a predator, drool spattering down over your clothes from his parted lips. He holds your gaze unblinkingly until his eyes drag down the lines of your nose, over your lips and throat and breasts, until they find a home at the apex of your thighs.

“Pets don’t wear clothes – wouldn’t you agree?”

With a roar of a laugh, he sinks his clawed fingernails into your pants and tears them away, careless over the way he slices into your legs. He leans down to lap up the thin trickles of blood and moans, a deep, rumbling sound like an insectile purr. He stares down at your cunt, wet and parted like petals of a flower, and makes a show of breathing in your scent.

“Slick as a bitch in heat,” he sighs. Each consonant is hard and precise. You watch him cup himself, tease along his own cock in search of friction. He shudders and growls, snapping at you with bared piranha teeth. He rips into his costume and what springs forth is less of a cock and more of a living creature, a dark, writhing tentacle of an organ with ridges and cords and bumps, oozing with black ichor. He strokes it once, twice, and lowers his hips to fit between your trembling thighs, caught between the aching inferno in your body and fear so pervasive it makes every inch of your skin crawl. He’s disgusting. He’s a fucking abomination, he’s evil beyond words, and you’re devastatingly aroused. “ _You want it_. Tell me. Tell Pennywise… how much… you  _crave_  it.”

His cock squirms between your swollen lips to caress your clit. It forces a whiny, pathetic moan from your lungs and Pennywise’s eyes go comically wide. In one swift motion, he rears his hips back and plunges inside of you.

_Pain_. The shock of him inside your body doesn’t register beyond a stark blaze of numbness at first, turning everything into static white-noise. Pennywise is more than happy to pound sensation back into your frayed nerves, splitting you open with each greedy thrust of his cockd, claiming you, fingers digging into your waist to impale you down on him. Breathless little shrieks fill the air, your sobs and his heavy breathing. His long body and spider-limbs are like a cage. He’s everywhere, tongue in your ear as he cackles, your face buried in ruffles that smell like the midway, like greasy food and funnel cake and popcorn.

“Good little girls listen,” he growls. “ _Say it_ , say how badly you want me to  _fill-you-UP_.”

“ _Please_ …” Your tongue feels numb behind your teeth, thick and drunk, words slurring out with effort between your moans. “Fill me up. Make me yours, I’m  _yours_ ,  _I’m_   _yours_ , please…”

“I’ll keep you right here –  _yes_ , would you like that? Like Pennywise to  _fuck_  you,  _breed_  you,  _taste_  you, be my obedient bitch? Oh!  _Oh, look at you_ … wet little cunt, so tight around me.  _Mmm, that’s it_. Cum for me. Cum for me, tasty thing.”

Pennywise steals your climax from you, bringing you up from the floor and into the blazing heat flowing through every taut muscle in your belly and thighs and cunt, rippling in the throes of release, and the monster above you controls his bucking so he can draw your pleasure out. He rolls his hips with infernal purpose, dragging every inch of his alien cock as if he has all the time in the world. Maybe he does. This eldritch horror, drooling over your clit as it throbs without contact. He smirks and presses the pad of his thumb against it, rubbing brutal, irregular circles with such speed that you’re forced to scream through an immediate second climax.

His name is on your tongue and ringing through the room, and again you feel suffocated by his presence. Inside, outside, in your mouth and pussy and lungs, everywhere. He dominates your senses. He licks a wet line up your throat and bites into the flesh, hundreds of angry needlepoints bringing weak rivulets of blood to soak into your hair. He licks at them and purrs, vibrating from the tip of his tongue to the tip of his cock. A brief montage of images flows through your mind of the two of you, of every conceivable way Pennywise could fuck you and make you cum, promises that he plants into the far reaches of your mind for you to ache for later. To beg him. And already you find yourself clutching his suit and making an effort to inhale the scent of him. Underneath the tantalizing carnival smells, he’s earthy, like something so old and decadent with decay that even the act of taking him in like this is a death wish.

It’s impossible to differentiate orgasms. The longer he fucks you, the deeper the pleasure anchors into your very being, mingling there with the searing pain of your overfilled cunt, sharp and bright like a knife, like the sun.

“Only  _I_  can do this to you. I can see inside, you know - _I know you_. I know your pretty little pussy is trying to milk me dry – can’t help yourself. Just an animal in heat. This is all you are, now, all you ever need to be –  _mine_.”

His cock jabs deeper than before, nearly to the hilt. Your shrieking startles even you, baffled as to how you still have the energy to make such a loud, shrill noise in the midst of the red sea of sensation, the feeling of his teeth and lips and tongue still on your throat and fingers winding back into your hair, gold streaked through with red around his knuckles as he pulls. Were you truly anything before Pennywise came to rip through your mental and physical walls, showing you how simple and hedonistic your life can be if you truly let it? Your only lot in life, reduced to a malleable, submissive doll for this creature to use and abuse and pleasure. It sets off a chain of contractions so powerful you sob, swallowing back tears before he can lick those, too.

“ _There. Yes,_ ” he urges mindlessly, plush lips forming archaic syllables you barely recognize as human. The sounds rolling from his tongue are indescribable, impossible, and they scorch against your flesh with their strange power. His voice drops until it’s more of a sensation, words travelling up to summon a spray of tingling goosebumps. “ _I am the breaker of beams. I am older than your gods and masters, older than the spark that birthed your universe. I am the beginning and the end, and you are now mine to keep, child._ ”

“ _Please_ ,” you mouth. The ghost of a whisper reaches his ears, and in return he mocks you, mocks you over and over again with the harsh pounding of his cock splitting you in half. His derisive laughter drives you back to the edge, dangling over the precipice of your absolute undoing, and his hands go back to squeeze at your hips. Pace speeding up, he tests the dig of his claws into your flesh and grunts with pleasure to find you so responsive to the pain. He digs ten neat little furrows into your hips and there’s a lucid moment in which you stare into his eyes and realize your mistake, taking so much pleasure in the devil’s company.

_It’s too late_.

You stare, allowing the orange brushfire of his eyes to consume you. He’s all too happy to oblige, abandoning his delirious jeering to yank you flush against his body. His cock expands until you’re positive you’ll burst before pulsing his cum into you, grinding his pubic bone against your poor clit in time with the way he throbs.

“Cum again, take my seed  _aalll the way up inside_ , up, up,  _up_ , ‘til your belly is full of me. Take me, little girl, cum for me again.  _Do_   _it_.”

He doesn’t need to threaten you any longer – you comply before he’s even through hissing into your ear, the force of your contractions almost painful as they coax every last drop of cum from the clown’s body, his shivery gasps almost as delicious as the way his eyes roll back, the way his jaw hangs open with his tongue lolling out.

Your brain goes on some kind of busted autopilot as you whimper his name over and over, that you belong to him,  _thanking_  him. He remains inside of you until the thing serving as his cock softens and retreats back into his body via a gilded slit, lined with shining teeth. Peeks of his torso reveal smooth, hard flesh, shot through with dark veins like supple marble. He’s still purring deep inside his chest as he peels away your shirt and examines all of you, limp and slicked in sweat and blood and cum.

Angry bruises bloom underneath scrapes and gashes, your body rendered colorful and exquisitely sore. He takes his time to lick your body clean, from the tender insides of your ankles up your abused thighs and hips, your ribs, stopping to tease your nipples and take them between his teeth. He navigates the smooth valleys and curves of your body until all that’s left is your pussy. He’s so gentle with you that you cry, his claws retracted and tucked neatly inside silken gloves where there were none before, holding your thighs open to him as he contentedly soothes you down.

_Grooming_ , you think. He’s literally grooming you.

_Who cares?_

“My pet. Sweet, soft little treat. You did so  _well_.” He runs his tongue sloppily over your cheekbone and nuzzles your throat, a growl vibrating the air between you. “ _Welcome home_.”


End file.
